Of Uniforms and Tin Men Hats
by Aisalynn
Summary: CainD.G. Drabble. He’d never thought that he’d come to see his own son as a rival, never thought he’d turn his eyes on him with anything resembling jealousy.


He'd never thought that he'd come to see his own son as a rival, never thought he'd turn his eyes on him with anything resembling jealousy. But there he was, looking striking in his new uniform, hair slicked back, medals gleaming on his chest, boyish smile on his face. He should have taken notice on how the hard, desperate look was gone from his son's eyes, how his shoulders, once tense from the weight of burdens he was far too young to bare, were now relaxed. But he didn't notice any of that.

Instead, he focused on his arm around her waist as they danced across the ballroom floor, the way her hand lay on his shoulder, the palm just an inch from cupping the edge of his neck, the way she smiled as they talked, too low for him to hear, their faces close together. He was reminded, once again, how close their ages were, how more fitting a relationship between them would be. And he couldn't help the thought as it slipped into his mind:

Thank god he married young.

The dance ended. Couples paused and separated around the ballroom, smiling and bowing before moving to pair up with another partner, but his eyes stayed on one couple. He noticed how they stilled in the embrace, pausing to finish their conversation before separating. Sharp eyes focused on strong fingers as they circled a dainty wrist, narrowed as his son pulled her back to him, lips moving to form words only she could hear. She smiled mischievously (he knew that smile. How many times had he seen it flashed towards him?) and leaned up to whisper something in his ear. A slow blush burned its way onto his son's pale cheeks, and he nodded as he released her wrist.

Something ugly stirred inside of him, and if he hadn't spent years thinking only of his love for his son, he would think it was hatred.

She walked away, still smiling, unaware of the two pairs of ice blue eyes that watched the swaying of her skirts as she walked.

He grabbed her she passed by, pulling her into the curtained alcove, away from the curious eyes of her subjects.

"Cain, what--"

He cut her off. Rough lips pressed against painted ones, hot tongue pushing possessively against hers. He felt her shudder against him and he curled an arm around her waist, pulling her against him while he leaned forward, pressing her to the wall. His other hand went to hair, undoing the elaborate twists and curls. He'd always liked it better down anyway, down and wild like the time he first saw her, swinging a stick against enemies too strong, just to help a few strangers.

Her hands fluttered at his shoulders, clenching and unclenching the fabric against his neck, and she gave a little breathy moan as he tore his mouth from hers to place hot, dotting kisses along her jaw bone and neck. He could feel the moisture of their mingled breath, hot and playful against his skin and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to breathe in her scent.

"Cain," she said, her voice low, and slightly breathless. "What's going on? Why did you pull me in here? Not that I'm complaining but usually…"

She trailed off, but he could finish the thought for her. Usually she would come to him, and he'd be cold, distant, keeping the kisses too chaste, the embraces too short, always stopping before passion could take over, always ending with an apologetic hug and fatherly brush of lips against forehead.

Always too afraid to let his heart be vulnerable again.

Ice blue eyes stared into her wide, ocean blue ones. He pulled her hand to his chest, curling his strong fingers around her dainty wrist. "What did you whisper to Jeb to make him blush like that?"

Her lips curled into a smirk, and he cursed himself for laying himself in the open like that. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his ear. Her breath was hot and it tickled, causing his breath to stop and start with a jerk. He wondered if this is what his son felt when she had done the same thing to him.

"I merely said," she whispered, "that while Army Officer's uniforms were dashing, I prefer the outdoor, rugged look of the Tin Men."

His lungs stopped working completely, and only started to work again after she pressed her mouth to his, pouring life into him.


End file.
